Welcome to Tuesday Tales! Thanks for stopping by. This is the continuation of Rory's story, THE RESCUED HEART, and the first day Hack shows up to fulfill his sentence.
THE RESCUED HEART“You couldn’t wait a damn…” Rory said as she opened the door. She looked up. Dr. Hack Roberts filled the space, his husky, six foot two-inch frame, lazed against the door jamb.
“You knew I was coming. Couldn’t be ready on time? I hate women who are late,” he said, stepping across the threshold.“It’s not easy to get dressed with this…this thing on my arm.”
“So start earlier.” He walked in and stopped, his gaze perusing the room. “Let’s get this started. I have other things to do than babysit you. Where do I sit?”
“You’re here until three, right?”
“So the judge said.”
She didn’t know whether she wanted to smack the bored, annoyed look off his face or kiss him. Kiss him? Never! Rory pushed the thought out of her mind, but couldn’t tear her gaze off his mocking brown eyes, kissable lips or thick, light brown hair.
“Here,” she pulled out a chair at her tiny desk, just big enough to hold her laptop. He turned his gaze from her breasts to the chair.
“You expect someone my size to squeeze into this tiny space for five hours every day?”
“I expect you to do what the judge said.” Her mouth closed into a tight frown.
His cell phone rang. It played the Swedish Rhapsody. Intriguing. He likes classical music.
“Felicia,” he said.
“Ah, Miss Pencil calling. Well don’t keep her waiting, Mr. Pussy-whipped.”
He glared at her. Rory lounged on the arm of the sofa, sipping coffee from a pink striped mug, listening to his conversation.“I’m here until three Felicia. What? No. No, I can’t. That’s what the judge said.”
There was a long silence.“You want me to get my ass slapped in jail? I’m sure Rory wouldn’t agree to that. No. Three months. Get over it.” He closed the phone. Laughter bubbled up in Rory’s chest. “Leash too long for Miss Splinter?”
He scowled. “None of your business.”
“Tell twiggy not to call. While you’re here you’re mine…my prisoner. To do with as I wish.”
“I mean for typing.”
“So where’s the stuff. What do you write, anyway?”
His face colored in a deep blush. “I’m going to be typing sex stuff?”
“Did I say sex?”
“No, but usually they go hand in hand.”
“Hand in hand? I might not put it exactly like that,” she giggled.